


When The Snow Comes Down (The Only Thing I Want This Year)

by Hum My Name (My_Kind_of_Crazy)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Blizzards, Christmas, Cold Weather, Cute Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holiday Shenanigans, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, Not really miscommunication but close enough, Surprise Visits, Winter, cheesy and cliche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21958618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Kind_of_Crazy/pseuds/Hum%20My%20Name
Summary: Cold catches him as his knees dare to buckle, nearly sending him sprawling into the lights; his own heart threatens to burst right out of his chest as he attempts to remember how to breathe.More than all this, though, he sees. More than lights and more than snow…He sees him.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43
Collections: Have Yourself Some Merry Little Peterick 2019





	When The Snow Comes Down (The Only Thing I Want This Year)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!!
> 
> Back at it with the Peterick fics, haha. And just in time for Christmas! I've been working on it throughout the month and, though it's not as long as I'd hoped it would be, I do like it quite a bit. I hope you all enjoy it, as well.
> 
> As always, huge shoutout to the mods of the Peterick Creation Challenge! May you all have a Merry Little Peterick indeed :)

Naturally, there’s a sprinkling of snow outside the hotel window. Bare stomach and chest to soft white sheets, Patrick turns his face towards the glass and grins.

“Think the drive back will be too cold?” He asks as the bathroom door opens, light flooding over the window and hiding the gentle weather for a second before it shuts again.

Pete falls onto the bed beside Patrick, water shaking from his hair and landing across Patrick’s back like little snowflakes of their own in here.

“It’s always cold when I have to drive away from you,” he says. 

Patrick laughs under his breath, rolling over to face Pete. 

“Don’t be so poetic about it,” he says, warmer now that Pete’s back beside him. “It makes me sad.”

Pete’s smile is soft as fog. “You’re the one who asked.”

Patrick makes a small noise in the back of his throat, a sound that’s neither happy nor sad. 

“Then forget I asked about it,” he says, looking down at their interlocked hands between them. “God, this sucks.”

“But it’s the only part of it that sucks, right?” Pete speaks with a small smile, like some pretense of happiness can make their time together last that little bit longer. 

Patrick rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling with a shrug.

For a moment, no one speaks.

“Hey, we still have the rest of the night, right?” Pete asks once they’ve been interrupted by the tapping of wind at the walls. “We’re not going to leave until morning. So that leaves room for—”

“For more wandering hands and your jokes getting worse as the night goes on?” Patrick asks, an eyebrow raised as he looks back at Pete. It’d be more deadpan if not for the way he laughs after asking, if not for the way Pete shuts him up with a kiss on the corner of his lips.

Patrick keeps Pete in place with a hand at the back of his head, turning so their mouths can line up right. He kisses Pete like it’s the first time; he kisses him like it’s the last time.

He kisses him the same way he does whenever they both stumble into this halfway point hotel, into this room that’s not in Patrick’s town or in Pete’s city. A brief stop in the middle of nowhere for two hearts kept too far apart by streets and miles and lives they can’t leave behind. Coming from different places— different states and different lives— only to fall into the same bed for a week or two.

Patrick kisses Pete like, maybe, holding Pete to him will finally close the distance between their homes.

“When will I see you again?” Pete asks as they pull apart for air, sanity chasing them like wind down a hill.

Like wind, it never really catches its target. It blows past, a brief battle, and then they’re both wrapped up in each other again.

“Dunno,” Patrick says as Pete rests his head on Patrick’s shoulder, a welcome weight. “Did I tell you about the Christmas party I’m hosting in a few weeks?”

“Yes, and I still don’t believe _you’re_ the one hosting the party,” Pete teases, poking a cool finger into Patrick’s ribs until Patrick whacks him on the back of the head, laughing against his will. “Come on, you never come to any of my parties. And my parties are the best.”

“They’re also over a day’s drive away. Some of us do have regular work hours,” Patrick shoots back. He pauses, licks his lips, and then continues. “Why don’t you come to my party? It’s been a while since you’ve seen any of my friends.”

He says it with a gentle voice, the soft rocking calm of a lullaby within his words. Pete sighs and leans closer into him, his hair cold from the wet but warm from the mere fact that it’s _Pete_.

“Can’t,” Pete says, at last. He rolls off Patrick, mimicking his act of staring at the ceiling when, really, they both steal glances at one another. “Storm of the century is supposed to hit the day of the party. I heard they’ll be shutting down the roads between here and there. There were some terrible accidents last time there was a blizzard.”

“What, you mean you don’t want to brave the cold for me?” Patrick laughs, turning to face Pete. 

“As much as I’d love to see you in your natural party-giving habitat, I don’t think I could talk any officer into letting me be the sole driver down a closed road,” Pete says, looking back at Patrick. “Besides, I’d have to leave crazy early and, well, you were the one to mention work hours.”

“Yeah, I know.” Patrick rolls his eyes. “I don’t actually expect you to risk your job or your life trying to come see me. There’ll be other parties, don’t worry.”

“It would still be nice to see you for the Christmas season, though. You sure you can’t head my way instead?” Pete asks, tilting his head, loose droplets of water staining the sheets and pillows with the scent of Pete’s latest shampoo.

“Can’t,” Patrick says. “The party’s the only free time I’ll have from work and, I mean, I obviously can’t miss a party I’m hosting.”

“Bleh,” Pete says dramatically. “Back to skype calls and facetime it is. At least it’ll be warm.”

“Mm, I do like the ability to talk to you _and_ make hot cocoa,” Patrick says, laughing as he lays an arm over Pete’s chest. “Hey, don’t get too down about it. We always make it work.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Pete says, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smile. His eyes find Patrick’s, warming both of them. “You still gonna miss me, Trickster?”

He doesn’t say it with as much regret as he usually does whenever they know they’ll be parting ways soon; similarly, Patrick doesn’t hesitate to smile back and press a kiss to Pete’s jaw.

“Just as much as you’ll be missing me.”

Outside, blue clouds press soft snow into the ground. Outside, a gentle wind cloaks the hotel and taps nervously at the windows.

Outside, winter wakes with an icy cold and a breath of chilled air.

But, inside this small hotel room, Pete wraps Patrick into his arms.

Inside this room, the two are warm.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

The snow outside Pete’s home one week later is as certain as it is tender, powder-sugared roofs dripping down into icicles and puddles on cement. Pete peers out his window, a mug of hot chocolate burning his palm, and smiles at the grey clouds above him.

Pete’s more of a warm-weather person but, standing in this silence, it’s easy to see how someone could find the snow pretty. It’s a kind of calm that’s hard to find, a kind of storm that’s defined by hot breaths and isolation. Even now, he sees the sparkle of ice crystals across his yard and holds his cocoa closer to his chest.

If the world is so still now, how tumultuous will it be once the real storm happens later?

How does the snow look in Patrick’s world?

As if called forth by his thoughts, Pete’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Shifting his mug to one hand, he frees the device and smiles at the notification from Patrick’s Instagram account. It had taken far more goading than Pete had expected to get Patrick to use it but, now, Pete looks forward to the few times a month he catches a glimpse into Patrick’s life.

Today, it’s something as heartwarming as the snow is cold— a picture of Patrick’s Christmas tree half set up. It’s a store-bought tree with white branches, blue lights dangling loosely around it, the wires yet to be properly pulled around. A box of ornaments rests nearby, a sign of more decorations to come. If Pete squints, he can see the glass heart ornament he gifted Patrick before they split ways at the hotel a week ago. Something of Pete to show off at his holiday party, he’d said. It had been a regretful symbol of their separation.

Now, though, Pete swipes away from the picture. He checks the weather for next week, instead.

The blizzard’s set to hit on Thursday, the day before Patrick’s party, and last through the weekend. Warnings of low temperatures and dangerous conditions fill Pete’s screen when he clicks for details on each day.

Wednesday, however, is more than clear. And, upon double-checking his email, it’s also an approved day away from work, along with the rest of the week.

Pete’s chest swells with the Christmas present kind of excitement, the knowledge of a gift he can’t quite wait to hand out. It had been surprisingly easy to convince Patrick of his inability to attend the party, claiming closed roads and the like. 

There’s no reason, though, for Pete not to leave a day before these roads are shut down. There’s no reason for Pete to miss Patrick’s party.

There’s no reason they shouldn’t spend at least a bit of the holiday season together. After all, it’ll be their first holiday season _together_ and, Pete thinks, he’s always been a bit of a sucker for big romantic gestures.

He pockets his phone with a knowing grin. He looks back at the first layer of snow, an eyebrow raised.

Nothing’s going to keep him from Patrick.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Perhaps this is what peace feels like. Patrick wouldn’t know. Between work and social gatherings and a long-distance relationship, his life has been more stressed than anything else.

Now, though, placing delicate ornaments on the branches of a pale Christmas tree, humming along to the holiday jazz album on his record player, he imagines this is what people mean when they say it’s the most wonderful time of the year.

Peace or not, it’s, at the very least, nice.

“Do these look evenly spaced out or should I move them around again?” Patrick asks, stepping back from the tree and setting the emptied ornament box down. 

Brendon peeks out from around the corner of the couch, his hands still tangled in silver glitter from the wreaths he’d been unpacking, and grins. 

“Looks nice,” he says. “Very classy.”

He says it with a teasing tone but Patrick’s chest warms anyway as he turns, taking in the silver and blue Christmas decorations filling his home. Whatever else happens— be it blizzard or horrendous party shenanigans— he can at least rest easy with the knowledge that his Christmas decorating skills are perfect.

As if to prove the point to himself, he straightens out the glass ornament Pete had given him, placed in the center of pale blue baubles weighing down the branches.

“I want to see how the lights look. Can you get the lamps while I plug this in?” Patrick asks, already moving towards the cord near the back of the tree. Brendon mutters something behind him about being tricked into work but he walks over to the lamps on the other side of the room anyway.

All at once, the room goes dark, filled only with the pulsing blue and white lights wrapped around the tree. The colors catch on the ornaments, reflecting and deflecting to other parts of the room, covering it all in a shade as light as snow.

Patrick smiles, imagining he can feel the warmth from the lights as he simply watches.

“You know, I had my doubts about the pretentious color scheme but, hey, it actually looks really nice,” Brendon says, flicking the main lights back on. “Once it starts snowing, it’ll be beautiful. You’ve managed to create a little winter wonderland in your living room. Christmas pictures this year are gonna look romantic as hell.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t know,” Patrick says, unplugging the Christmas lights. “Pete’s not gonna be able to make it due to the storm. He said work’s got him on a tight schedule and he doesn’t want to risk the roads.”

“Oh,” Brendon says in the same sympathetic tone people always use when they remember how Pete and Patrick don’t get to do every cliche couple thing. “Well, then, at least you’ll have some cute solo pics to send him?”

“Nope again,” Patrick says, fixing the curtains behind the tree and quickly peering out to see if any storm clouds have rolled in. While the sky’s still clear, he frowns at the wind tugging at the plants and decorations left outdoors. “Won’t have time to take any pictures at the party.”

He doesn’t look at Brendon, but Patrick’s sure he can feel the confused eyes burning into his back.

“What do you mean?” Brendon asks.

“I mean that Pete means more to me than some stupid holiday party,” Patrick says with a small laugh, turning back around. “It’s a front, Bren. I never wanted to host a holiday party, no matter how good my house looks for it.”

“So does that mean that I should cancel my RSVP?” Brendon’s eyebrows furrow closer together.

Patrick shakes his head, hands finding a place on his hips. “No, I mean, the party’s still going to happen but Kevin’s gonna be the one hosting it. He’ll watch my house and host the party while I sneak away to surprise Pete. So, technically, I wasn’t lying when I invited everyone to a Stump-hosted party. Just… Not the Stump they’re expecting.”

“Right.” Brendon draws out the word, standing in place and watching Patrick with his eyes as Patrick stacks the empty ornament boxes on the couch. “Aren’t you worried about getting stuck in the storm? Or lying to Pete about where you’ll be? I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel like as great an idea as you think it is.”

Patrick laughs again, shaking his head and patting Brendon on the shoulder as he walks past him, the boxes balanced in his other hand.

“You’ll understand when you’re in love,” he says. Brendon doesn’t say anything, simply sighing and moving to finish his work with the wreaths.

Patrick pauses, looking down at him with a small frown. There’s nothing wrong with his plan, he’s certain. If anything, it’s fate’s fault for leading him to fall in love with a man who lives too far away, the two of them meeting at a going-away party one of Patrick’s acquaintances had dragged him to— a going away party for _Pete_. He hadn’t meant to become so attached to someone he knew was moving miles away before the end of the week but there was something about him Patrick couldn’t ignore, something that made him think the distance might be worth a try.

Well, he’s been putting up with the distance for the better part of a year. He’s sure he can be forgiven for going against that trend for just one trip.

Reassured, he nods to himself and walks off with the boxes. The house is decorated, the invitations had been sent out and Pete’s none the wiser.

There’s no way this can go wrong.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Patrick’s jacket is a bit too thin for the kind of weather Pete’s seeing outside but, by virtue of it simply being Patrick’s jacket, Pete pulls it on anyway. The olive green shade clashes with the blue sweater he tucked himself into but he smiles anyway, zipping the jacket up to the top.

He pulls his arms around himself and breathes deeply for the lingering remnants of cologne and a certain warmth that only Patrick brings. It’s almost a hug and, for once, the thought doesn’t leave him feeling lonelier than before.

His few bags for the upcoming days wait by the door, ready to be carried outside into the car. He’s dug out the old blue and white suitcases from the back of his closet, Patrick’s Instagram photos popping into his mind with their delicate blue and silver schemes. Pete’s more of a red and green Christmas kind of guy, as evidenced by the tacky lights up around the front door, but he can sacrifice the tradition for Patrick’s party. He just hopes he’s able to make it on time— which is why he’s leaving today.

A flurry of excitement fills Pete’s chest, tickling his ribs and heart as he smiles down at his phone, Patrick’s latest post pulled up. He’s with Brendon, smiling next to a fully decorated dining room table, white tablecloth and blue flowers and all. It’s fancier than Pete usually expects from a party but his excitement heightens all the same. He thinks of pictures with Patrick among the holiday setting, dangling mistletoe over his head to see if he can make him blush— to see how that blush looks beneath sparkling lights and fireside glows. 

With a soft sigh, Pete swipes the picture away, going to his contacts to call Andy, one of the many friends he had to leave behind when moving away.

“I know you’re not calling me while driving,” Andy says, answering right away. 

Pete laughs, leaning against the wall behind him. 

“Not yet,” he says. “But I appreciate the concern.”

“I’m sure you do.” Andy sighs, the sound filling the phone. “So if you’re not driving, then what are you doing?”

“Double-checking everything on your end,” Pete says, tapping his fingers against his leg. “Is the party still on?”

“Last I heard, yeah. Though, I guess Patrick and I aren’t really close enough for me to know if he canceled it,” Andy says dryly. Pete can practically see the way he’d be rubbing his temples right now. “Honestly, the only reason I’m going is to see you, man.”

“Aw, I’m touched.” Pete laughs softly, nudging his bags with his foot as he thinks. “Hey, how’s the weather there? I was thinking of leaving now to beat the storm but that might get me there a bit earlier. If you think it’s safe, then I could wait or—”

“It hasn’t started snowing yet but the skies definitely don’t look good,” Andy says, concerned all over again. “If I didn’t know your particular brand of stubbornness, I’d tell you not to head this way, at all. But…”

“But Patrick awaits,” Pete says, hardly bothered by the idea of blizzards or grey skies. He places his free hand in the jacket pocket; if wearing the jacket is a hug, then he can pretend this is the same as holding Patrick’s hand. “If I leave early this afternoon, I can get there tomorrow morning before the party. And, hopefully, Patrick’s not upset at my inviting myself over and I can stay with him until the storm passes.”

“The storm is supposed to hit tomorrow night,” Andy says slowly in a voice that would frustrate Pete if he had the energy to care about anything other than his plans. “If you’re even a few hours later than you’re planning, you could get stuck halfway here.”

“It’ll be fine,” Pete says, glancing at the clock on the wall across from him. “Actually, it’ll be perfect. Hey, I’m gonna hang up and head out now. So I don’t get stuck in this monster storm you’re so worried about.”

“Yeah, okay,” Andy says with another heavy side. “Just be careful driving, alright?”

“Always,” Pete says. “See you at the party.”

Once he’s hung up and placed his phone safely back in his pocket, he looks down at the bags at his feet. There should be enough for a few days— enough for him to celebrate the holiday season with his favorite person. Warmed by his thought, he collects the bags and starts carrying them to the car outside. He could do it all in one trip— it’s just a bag or two— but there’s something else he comes back to the house to grab; he returns for a small present wrapped in blue and silver foil. 

It’s light in his hands but he holds it like he’s scared to drop it, tucking it in the crook of his arm as he locks the house behind him. It’s delicate, something fragile to him, and he places it gently in the passenger seat of the car, the box held in place by a water bottle placed on its side in front of it. He waits a moment, smiling to himself, then shuts the door and gets in the driver’s seat. 

If he’s going to see Patrick for Christmas, he doesn’t want to do so without a gift.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

“And you’re _sure_ this is a good idea?”

Patrick spares a withering glare his brother’s way. “Will you ever not doubt me?”

“I just don’t see why you’d go through the trouble of setting up all of this only to leave,” Kevin says, gesturing to the overly decorated living room. 

Patrick shakes his head, zipping his suitcase and yanking it off the couch with a small wince when the freshly-washed cushions catch a few specks of dirt in the process. He sighs, though it’s more for dramatic effect, as he leans over to brush it all onto the floor instead. 

“Because I’ve already told my friends about the plan and it’d be shitty not to go through with it?” Patrick looks at Kevin, raising an eyebrow as he places a hand on his hip. “Or because I deserve to see my boyfriend at least once during the Christmas season? Look, Kev, I’ve already finished packing and you’re already here so I don’t get why you’re bringing this all up now.”

“Hey, I’m not stopping you. I think it’s cute. Romantic, even,” Kevin says, hands held up in surrender. “I’m just saying it’s, like, not at all like you. At all.”

“Well, it is now.” Patrick glances around the room once more, checking for any bags or items he may have forgotten. 

Kevin lets out a breath and holds a small box up to Patrick— a red and green present. 

“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached,” he says. He pauses, Patrick taking the gift from him with a soft sound of gratitude. “I know there’s no talking you out of this so just… Be careful, alright? If the weather gets bad, promise me you’ll pull over.”

“Not a kid anymore,” Patrick says, rolling his eyes as he tucks Pete’s present into one of his bags. “But, okay. I promise not to do any reckless driving— as if I do anyway.”

Kevin shakes his head, though the tension in his shoulders uncoils as he pats Patrick on the shoulder.

“If I don’t do the annoying big brother thing at least once, is there any point to me being here?” He asks. “Text me when you get there.”

“Will do,” Patrick says. “And let me know if the party—”

He’s cut off by the distant sounds of Kevin’s daughter, baby Zara, crying in another room. Kevin winces, sparing an apologetic look Patrick’s way.

“Looks like we’ve run out of time,” he says. “Good luck on your trek. Get your man and all that.”

Patrick smiles as Kevin turns, calling out to Zara though there’s no way she can understand him. He laughs to himself, shaking his head as he pulls out his phone and checks for any messages from Pete.

Nothing. 

Patrick raises an eyebrow. He’d texted Pete this morning, double-checking to see if there was any chance he wouldn’t be home by the time Patrick got there. Patrick’s pretty sure he knows Pete’s schedule well enough to get away with guessing but it wouldn’t hurt to have confirmation.

With a sigh, Patrick slips his phone back into his pocket and lifts his suitcase, careful not to add too much pressure to the place he’s packed Pete’s present into. It’s a small gift but Patrick’s proud of it, having gone out of his way to make sure even the wrapping paper will match Pete’s aesthetic. The only thing missing is a gaudy big bow. 

Doesn’t matter now, Patrick thinks as he carries the case outside to the car. He can always pick up a bow on the way there if he decides Pete really needs one. It’s the benefit of leaving early, everything tucked in the car and ready to go. With a smile, Patrick buttons up his coat and gets in the driver’s seat. He has all the time he needs to make this a perfect holiday surprise.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Pete’s driven these roads often enough that the way to Patrick’s hometown feels like driving to work every morning. It's without thought or pressure, the radio talking aimlessly about traffic and weather while the heater keeps Pete from grumbling too much about the snow starting to fall.

It’s been a little over half the day, and he crossed the state line just a bit ago. He’s ready and he’s prepared, heart thrumming with each mile that passes beneath his car. Dusk kisses the edges of the horizon; Pete’s smiling, laughing, looking out at the street like it’s the world’s gift to him. He’s perfect. He’s bursting with excitement. He's—

He’s running out of gas.

Pete frowns as the dial slips towards the red, a warning that hits just in time for him to pull into the next gas station. It’s no surprise that he needs to refuel but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s a few extra minutes tacked onto the total drive time.

And it definitely doesn’t change the fact that he has to leave the safety of his car and brave the cold air pressing tauntingly at his windows.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Pete says as he steps out, yanking a hat over his hair and zipping the jacket up to his neck. The flakes falling are deceivingly gentle— little wet kisses on his cheeks and nose— but the wind whips at him with a fury he’s certain he doesn’t deserve. It’s only a matter of time before this small flurry becomes the promised blizzard he’s trying to outrun. “God, I hate the cold.”

It’s with freezing fingers and shaking hands that Pete fiddles with the machine, shoving his card in and lifting a nozzle. He curses repeatedly under his breath, ignoring the stranger on the other side of the pump sighing at each swear.

Pete wraps an arm around himself as he waits for the gas to fill his car, glancing back out at the street and the cars racing by. It helps to realize that he’s closer to Patrick than he had thought he was; just a few more hours and he’d find himself at the hotel he’s come to think of as his and Patrick’s.

During the early days of their relationship, when time and money couldn’t support many trips all the way to one another’s homes, Pete had been determined to find a place that served as a home away from home. A sort of safe haven for each other— an outpost against whatever obstacles life might try to toss their way. Long work hours, tight finances, people who said it’d be better to just date someone close— Pete wanted physical proof that none of these mattered.

And, so, he found a small hotel that was neither in his home or in Patrick’s. Halfway to both— a place that could be here and there. It’s not entirely a different world— the windows are too big to really hide away, and the buildings still all look the same— but that never seems to matter when Patrick’s around. They don’t need a secret hiding place; they just need a room and the warmth of knowing who will be on the other side when the door opens.

Though Pete’s lost in the gentle memories, he’s still pleased when he can put the nozzle away and collect his receipt, finding safety from the cold in his car once again.

“I hope Patrick appreciates this,” Pete says, blasting his heat once more and rubbing his hands together. It’s more for dramatic effect than anything else, his thoughts having warmed him from the inside out. “I’m gonna toss him outside once I get there. Let him see how the snow feels.”

When Pete turns the radio on as he pulls away from the pump, the station has shifted towards the Christmas sound. This particular rendition of Let It Snow is a bit jazzier than Pete’s used to but he turns the music up anyway, smiling as fat flakes collect on his windshield, wiped away a second later. 

Perhaps he and Patrick will be listening to something similar later, once Pete arrives and has one of Patrick’s many heated blankets curled over his shoulders. They’ll wait for the party to start together, tangled up on the couch and laughing about bad Christmas covers. He’ll kiss Patrick and, for a few snowy days, they can pretend this is how it always is.

As if a sign from God in the season of miracles, a car like Patrick’s pulls into the gas station as Pete pulls out, everything about it just right down to the dusty grey shade Pete always teases.

It’s proof that all of this is worth it. It’s evidence that universe wants him to keep driving Patrick’s way.

Christmas music playing, Pete pulls back onto the highway and hurries to Patrick’s home.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

The roads become emptier the closer Patrick gets to Pete’s home, yawning as he drives the familiar street leading to Pete’s neighborhood. It’s quieter in the city, the sky an early morning kind of dark blue and the building lights just barely beginning to flicker on. He’d driven through most of the night, only twice needing to pull into a rest stop to nap in his car long enough to regain the energy he’d need for the rest of the drive.

And, as Pete’s neighborhood appears in the distance, it had been worth it. Worth the ache in his body from the full day and night of driving, worth the exhaustion hanging heavily from his shoulders, worth the chill biting into his bones when he wandered into sketchy gas stations, worth the wait to see Pete again.

Pete’s always worth it. Patrick’s heart pulls towards his home as if the beating was never his own, tugging like hands at his chest that smudge his skin with fingerprints that were always Pete’s. 

Snow dusts the streets like torn pieces of paper. Wind chills the glass of his windows, his own breath fogging over the space beside him when he turns his head, gazing at the Christmas lights welcoming him into Pete’s neighborhood. Sparkling candy canes are set up on the edges of lawns like fences separating one home from the next. Smiling Santas sit atop homes, waving with a mechanical jerk that’s somehow more charming than it should be. Even the less decorated homes are filled with colors, flashing and shining and dazzling his eyes.

Patrick’s driven down Pete’s streets a dozen times before but this is the first time it’s ever felt so festive. If he turns up the poppy Christmas tune on the radio, he can almost pretend the rest of the world is celebrating their reunion with them.

“Nearly there,” Patrick mutters to himself, his voice low beneath the cheery radio song. “Just a few more streets and…”

He counts down the houses he drives past, going slow both to take in the decorations and to draw out the eagerness building in his gut. 

Red lights. Green lights. Flashing lights and candy cane colored lamps. These all pass Patrick’s vision and his smile grows with each home. He’s no doubt that Pete’s will be the brightest— he’s seen pictures from years before. He knows how Pete loves his Christmas lights.

One street left, a handful of houses and one corner to turn before Patrick arrives. Impossibly, he drives slower still. Will Pete enjoy his presence? Will he be as excited as Patrick is now? Patrick’s heart hammers in time with these questions. His car seems weighed down by the worry and want tugging it back and forth. When Patrick closes his eyes, nearly brought to a stop the moment before the corner, all he sees are red and green lights— the same shade as the present bundled up for Pete in the back.

At last, he opens his eyes. At last, he turns the corner.

Pete’s home waits before him.

All of Patrick’s emotions expand to the point of bursting, the heat in the car suddenly draining with the same plummeting feeling of Patrick’s stomach sinking to his feet. He’s hot and cold at once; he’s paused and staring as if blinded.

But there’s nothing to be blinded by.

Despite the string of lights on Pete’s home— the shape of a tree through the window, the freshly fallen snow framing the shape of each decoration carefully hung up— there is nothing truly to see.

In the lights of Christmas and the pale glow of falling snow, Pete’s home is dark.

Pete’s home is missing the brightest gleam of all because, Patrick realizes as he forces his car closer, Pete isn’t there.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

“It’s not breaking in,” Pete tells himself as he searches for Patrick’s spare key under the front porch mat, grinning when he finds it. “It’s simply part of the surprise.”

Eventually, Pete finds the key. The key finds the lock.

Even in the dim dull blue of morning, stepping into Patrick’s home is like walking into a gentle spring day, as warm and as peaceful as Patrick himself. Blue and white lights hang like diamonds from the ceiling, shut off but still as vibrant as the pictures promised. The tree’s in the far corner, decorated with ornaments so deep and blue that Pete feels himself drawn towards them, presents stacked beneath the snowy branches and caught in the light dripping in from the window.

Though the wind beats against the walls outside, Pete’s never felt so warm. 

Something like laughter builds his chest, bubbling up his throat like a kid counting his presents on Christmas day. He keeps his lips pressed close together, fighting back any sound. It’s not the easiest achievement— not with the stockings beside the tree, the Christmas cards set out in a row on the table, the tables dusted with fine silver glitter, or any of the other little details Patrick’s delicately placed into his Christmas Wonderland home.

Upstairs, something creaks. Pete pulls his eyes from the decorations and towards the staircase emerging from the other room, frowning at the thought of Patrick awake so early. He pauses, waiting for a follow-up noise, but all he’s greeted with is the faintest sound of ruffling blankets. Back in bed, then; Pete’s smile finds its place back on his lips.

He takes greater caution as he sets his bag down, Patrick’s present tucked under his arm as he slips off his shoes and pads across the room towards the tree. His stomach twists in that overexcited way it always did whenever he approaches stacks of presents and pretty lights; even his skin seems to prickle with eagerness, his heart pounding to the rhythm of the snow tapping at the window and walls. 

The way he bends before the Christmas tree is nearly reverent, his mouth screwed into a funny little line as he ponders where to place Patrick’s present. Already, there are gifts signed off with Patrick’s messy scrawl, each one addressed to one of their friends. It makes sense Pete wouldn’t see his own name among the others— he couldn’t make the party, after all. Still, his eyes scan the piles of silver and blue boxes, hoping to catch a hint that Patrick had thought of him while planning out this perfect party. At the very least, Pete supposes, his own present for Patrick will fit right in with the rest.

Pete’s still frowning, still thinking, when a shadow falls over him. He pauses, his heart hitting his ribs harder than before, but he does his best not to let his childlike glee show.

“You forgot to leave out the milk and cookies,” he says, repeating the line he’d rehearsed a thousand times on the drive over. “I guess I’ll have to settle for a different treat—”

“Oh, hey, Pete. Rick’s gonna love this.” 

The present falls from Pete’s hands. 

“Rick?” He asks, turning his head so quickly he’s surprised his neck doesn’t snap. “What the fuck do you mean _Rick_?”

Someone who’s not Patrick— despite the same doughy cheeks and same bright eyes— looks down at Pete with an eyebrow raised, thin wire-frame glasses slipping down his nose.

“You know. Rick,” he says as if this answers anything. “My brother, your boyfriend. The one who’s going to burst a vessel when he finds out you’re here and not at home.”

“Patrick,” Pete clarifies, standing on uncertain legs. Now that he’s at eye level with the man, he can recognize him from the family pictures Patrick occasionally sends over— Kevin. “You’re saying he’s not here?”

Pete’s heart rate picks up but for an entirely different reason than before.

“Well, I mean, yeah,” Kevin says, shrugging in what must be a very Stump way as his head dips down and his hands spread out to the side. “I’d ask if he told you but you’re, like, the only one he couldn’t tell.”

And, yeah. Pete’s stomach plummets. 

Kevin may be trying to explain but Pete can’t hear much past the buzzing in his ears, his pulse so quick it’s become a senseless thrumming rather than any healthy beat. He nods along to Kevin’s words, catching his and Patrick’s name every few seconds. He doesn’t really need the explanation— it’s all an excuse anyway.

It’s all a fancy way to say that Patrick isn't where he said he would be, isn't doing what he said he'd be doing.

It’s all an easy way to explain the fact that Patrick’s done the one thing he’s never done before— he’s lied to Pete.

“—there by now so I’d call him if you get the chance,” Kevin says by the time Pete’s fought back the urge to throw a fit about Patrick’s whereabouts. “Or you can stick around for the party. He’ll be back by tomorrow if he realizes that—”

“It’s fine,” Pete snaps, hardly feeling bad for the hard tone. Kevin had said that Pete would be the only one not to know— did everyone see him as a fool? “I don’t think I’d want to talk to him right now, anyway.”

“What?” Kevin’s eyebrows furrow together. “Dude, did you hear what I said? He’s—”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Pete breaks, yelling enough that Kevin draws back, his cheeks pink with indignation of his own. “I’m just trying to do something nice and he fucked it up by being somewhere else.”

“Oh, I’m sorry my baby brother thought it’d be cute to—”

“To lie and make me look like a clown.” Pete laughs— at Kevin, at Patrick, at himself and the world around him. “Real sweet.”

For a moment, neither speaks. Kevin simply stares back at Pete as Pete tries to work past the tangle of hurt in his throat, the barbs of embarrassment and shame.

“You’re a real piece of work,” Kevin says at last, stepping away from Pete with a stiffness in his shoulders. “You should head back home. And, if you have a moment to take your head out of your ass, call Patrick. I’m sure he’s just as confused as you.”

Kevin doesn’t bother with seeing Pete out; Pete doesn’t bother with goodbyes.

Bags back in his hands, the present forgotten by the tree, he turns and leaves the house. 

He glowers darkly at the snow, his face hot enough to keep him from feeling the cold right away.

“Looks like the holidays will be just as lonely as Patrick said they would be,” he mutters, heading back to his car. He tosses his bags into the back, not caring of how they jostle and tip over. “Just didn’t think he’d be the one making sure it stayed that way.”

<><><> <><><> <><><>

No matter how he fiddles with the buttons and knobs, Patrick’s car refuses to heat up. It’s been cold— iced over and cruel— since he pulled away from Pete’s house, frozen with the realization that he’d arrived at an empty home. He’d waited in the driveway for nearly an hour, convinced that any second would have Pete pulling in beside him, his face split in that too-wide grin of his. Nearly an hour before giving in to the fact that Pete was gone. Nearly an hour before he reversed out of the driveway, his heart as heavy as the snow gathering on the sidewalks and streets.

Perhaps it’s dramatic but Patrick drives with a hopelessness he’s never felt before, exhaustion settling over his bones as easily as the cold still filling the car. He’s shaking but he doesn’t know which emotion it’s from; he’s hurting but he doesn’t know how to stop the pain.

“—leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” Pete’s voicemail message repeats for the seventeenth time in the past thirty minutes, Patrick’s hand wrapped tightly around his phone as if he can squeeze more than this pre-recorded voice out of it. “If it’s an emergency, then you can try reaching me at—”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Patrick snaps, tossing his phone to the side and only wincing a little when it hits the passenger door. “Fuck, Pete, where _are_ you?”

It’s a useless question to ask alone in his car, his only company being the staticky radio songs and the whistling wind passing by as he attempts to maneuver the roads. The snow hadn’t been so bad on the drive to Pete’s place but, now, he can clearly see the storm settling in. 

Of course, the blizzard had begun when Patrick had tried to— briefly— break into Pete’s house to make sure he wasn’t just sleeping in. The break-in had only lasted long enough for him to realize that Pete has not hidden any keys anywhere on his porch, and that his neighbors spend most of their time staring out their windows as if prepared to catch any and all grinch characters sneaking into unsuspecting homes. Leaving was equal parts sadness about Pete’s absence and desperation not to have the police called on him. 

Now, desperation has faded into his sadness and fear, trembling with each terrible thought of why Pete has suddenly disappeared.

It’s almost as if Patrick himself has vanished into a separate world, the once traffic-jammed streets stretching out before him without a soul in sight. Only the scattering snow keeps him company, hiding him away in a sheet of white. With each mile, the blizzard only closes in.

Wind shoves at his car— he drives on, swerving and cursing and checking his phone when he knows he shouldn’t. Snow becomes ice, pelting his windows with a sound like rocks tossed carelessly across glass— he drives on, though slower and with his eyes squinted to keep from crashing in the whiteout before him.

At last, the sky is nothing but white and grey clouds, angrily burning above him and pulling towards the earth with a howling sound. Patrol cars line the sides of the road, lit up signs directing him away from accidents and hazards.

It’s when _I’ll Be Home For Christmas_ transitions into _Blue Christmas_ on the radio that he slows down and pulls off the highway, car turned towards a painfully familiar hotel sign.

He doesn’t park in the space he’s come to consider his own. He doesn’t dare look around, hopeful to catch a familiar car pulling in beside him.

He also doesn’t bother with unpacking as he steps into the cold, the blizzard latching onto him with a biting sting, snow collecting on his skin and melting only for the water to freeze in place. By the time he’s walked to the lobby, it’s as if he’s been in the cold for years, shuddering and breathing deeply as if the fog of his breath is a better sight than the ice and snow around him.

“Welcome, sir— Oh!” The girl up front looks up with bright eyes, cheeks pink from the heat of the room. Patrick sighs as he settles into the warmth, shaking snowflakes away from his shoulders and hair. “Patrick! I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Will Pete be here soon, too?”

Just like that, the comfort of warmth falls like hot water through snow, and Patrick is cold once more.

“No, sorry, I—” He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, only that he’s been driving for far too long and that the sky is growing dark and that he still doesn’t know where Pete is. His voice fades into something small, something barely heard over the wind outside the hotel lobby’s glass doors. “I’m alone tonight.”

“Oh.” Such a soft sound; such a sad sound. Patrick bristles at the clear pity in her tone. “Alright, well, we have a few single rooms open. Let me just get that set up for you.”

Patrick nods, eyes turned towards the windows as the young girl checks him in and searches for the right keys. The storm only seems to be getting worse.

It’s a sad and sorry trek from the lobby to his room, making a quick stop at his car in order to grab the overnight bag he had planned for Pete’s place. At least the shame keeps his skin hot; at least the sorrow keeps his mind distracted from how he can barely breathe— or, perhaps, it’s the sorrow that makes it so.

Like the storm, his fears simply build to a tempest by the time he collapses on the hotel bed, reasons and questions whipping through his mind like a relentless wind. He fists the sheets beneath his hands, feeling the soft warmth but not caring for how it’s meant to ease and comfort his being. His entire mind seems to shake like a small figure left out in the snow— trembling, shuddering, alone.

God, he’s never felt quite so alone.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he says to himself, if only to hear something other than the blizzard’s cries. “I’ll figure it out after I go home.”

Limbs heavy and half numb from the cold, he drags himself off the bed and towards his bag, intent on finding a charger for his phone. There are missed calls and messages from Kevin but, really, Patrick can only deal with one crisis at a time; he’s not quite in the mood to solve whatever party problems are going on.

He pulls a pair of gloves out from the bag, followed by a hat and then a scarf. A mirthless laugh pulls from his throat at the same time. He’d prepared for everything but this.

The charger cord brushes his palm, tangled with his headphone wires, when he pauses— when he sees it.

Slowly glowing, slowly burning— red to green to blue to white.

Outside, workers— bundled like children sent out to play— gesture to each other and smile as they set up a Christmas tree outside. Caught in the storm, caught in the wind, they don’t seem to care as they pass lights down a line, laughing as the decorations flash from red to green to blue to white.

And Patrick pauses, simply watching— simply staring.

“I hope Pete’s somewhere as nice as this,” he says, letting some of that concern unfurl from around his heart— a tight coil coming undone with each soft switch of color.

Despite the snow, the lights are all he sees.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

“Shut _up.”_ Pete slams his palm against the car’s radio, shutting off a rather pathetic rendition of _Blue Christmas_ as he pulls into the hotel parking lot, his rage not yet having faded despite the hours and miles he’s driven in an attempt to sulk back at home.

Of course, fate has different plans. Heavy winds and blinding snow— paired with patrol cars pulling him over and warning him of road closures— have forced him to end his travels early. And, of course, he’s found himself at the symbolic heart of all his troubles— a familiar hotel parking lot with lonely holiday music playing around him.

He doesn’t know exactly who he’s pissed off for his Christmastime to turn out like this, but he’d quite like to know— if only to properly piss them off enough for him to actually deserve this hell.

The parking lot is busy enough that the only empty spot he finds is a decent walk away from the front door, his bones chilled by the thought alone. Still, sitting in the car and wasting his time isn’t going to do him any good. Much better to just get it over with.

It’s with curses on his tongue and a red haze around his vision that he crawls out of his heated car and into the cold, cursing louder when a particularly cruel blast of wind tosses a handful of snow at the back of his neck.

“Are you kidding me?” He snaps at nothing and no one in particular, spinning so quickly he kicks snow up his jeans and into his socks. It only serves to fuel his anger as he rubs at his eyes, trying uselessly to dry the melting snowflakes on his lashes. “This storm is so stupid! I hate this fucking weather and I hate this place and I—”

The red he sees when he clears his vision at last has nothing to do with the fury he feels. In fact, it’s a gentle glow that drains his emotion into something softer— something shifting just as certainly as the lights fading from red to green— from green to blue, and from blue to white. 

His hands fall to his side, uncaring of the cold as he watches workers in thick jackets and large dark boots standing around a Christmas tree a foot or two taller than the lot of them. They’re setting it up by the back of the parking lot, by a patch of snow where an area of grass and picnic benches usually sit. If Pete blinks slowly, he can remember how he and Patrick would pack lunches and dinners during their visits here, sitting under the sun and kicking at dirt as they fed each other homemade cookies and sandwiches. If he holds his breath and doesn’t think of the ice and snow around him, he can almost see the shape of Patrick’s smile in the way the wind blows over the place they call theirs.

The lights on the tree flicker briefly— a beacon pulling Pete towards it. He doesn’t realize he’s walking until he’s beneath the glow; red, this time, falling over him with all the warmth of a lamp beside a familiar hotel bed.

“Do you need help setting up?” He asks as one worker turns towards him, face red and watery from the storm. Still, the man smiles and shakes his head.

“We’ve got it about done by now,” he says, reaching into his pocket and offering a pair of gloves to Pete. Pete takes them without thinking, eyes caught on the lights before him. “The other guys are gonna start working on the lights inside. We don’t really need the help with that but if you want an excuse to get out of this cold…”

Warmth. Heaters and blankets and the comfort of people looking to make some friends.

The lights shift. They change.

Pete pulls the gloves on and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. For a moment, he can barely feel the wind.

“I might just stay out here and watch the tree, if that’s alright,” he says. 

Before him, the lights burn. 

“It’s cold,” the worker says, more hesitant before. Already, the others begin shuffling back towards one of the hotel doors, bouncing on the balls of their feet as they wait for someone to dig out a key. “Look, we’ve got hot cocoa going on inside and I’m sure there’s enough for you. The lights will be just as nice from a window.”

Yes, but will they be as vibrant? Will they be as real? Will they pulse in time with Pete’s breath, blurred and embraced by the hot fog leaving his lips with each exhale?

The lights may be nice from inside, but Pete doubts they’d carry the same magic they do now.

“I’m good,” he says, hands in his pockets and his eyes on the tree. “But I’ll come in if I need to. Promise.”

The last part, at least, seems to ease the man before him.

“Well, then,” he says. “I’ll keep a cup saved for you inside.”

Then, with a parting smile, he turns and follows his group.

Sitting in the snow isn't the greatest idea but the cold is nothing compared to the glow cast over his entire body, his skin and eyes changing color with each slow fade of the lights. 

Pete stares and, though he’s watching nothing but a tree, his mind drifts towards Patrick.

And he can’t help but think of how much Patrick would like this tree, too.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

After some fumbling with the handle and some confused wandering through the halls, Patrick shoves open a heavy door and finds himself outside. For a moment, he sees nothing but snow coating over his mittens as he tugs his winter coat tighter around his already shivering frame. He walks into the snowy expanse before him and, for a moment, all he feels is cold.

But then he’s greeted by shining white lights— brighter and more brilliant than the storm could ever be. Then, he doesn’t feel cold; he feels called to the glow before him. 

It’s fading to red— a gentle shade, more like sunset than anything sharper than that. He continues towards it, standing on the side of the tree nearest the hotel and facing the parking lot. A couple of the workers from before walk past him, muttering about hot chocolate and the promised warmth inside. It’s tempting to follow them— to sneak in as they huddle around a door, to hold his hands out for a hot drink— but something keeps him in place. Something turns his eyes back to the oversized tree.

There are no ornaments other than the ice and flakes collecting on the strands of lights. There are no presents other than the stacks of snow shoveled around it.

And there’s no one around except for Patrick; at least, that’s how it looks until Patrick shifts just a fraction to the side.

Another figure, knees pulled to their chest as they stare up at the tree in childlike wonder— their features obscured by snow and cold, but then…

But then something in the air clears. Something in the air shifts as easily as Christmas lights twinkling from one shade to the next.

Time and the weather both freeze around him, grasping him with all the force of sudden ice around his lungs.

Cold catches him as his knees dare to buckle, nearly sending him sprawling into the lights; his own heart threatens to burst right out of his chest as he attempts to remember how to breathe.

More than all this, though, he sees. More than lights and more than snow…

He sees _him_.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Pete, hidden beneath a layer of snow, shudders and tries to remove some of the ice sticking to the back of his neck. He breathes deeply, his chest hot with his own breaths and the warmth of the Christmas lights. From the hotel door, cracked open for the workers coming in and out, he can catch a few strands of a thick chocolate scent, covered quickly by peppermint and the vague sense of something gentler than even these lights.

It’s the promise of warmth and companionship that pulls him to his feet. It’s the thought of fading loneliness that turns his sight from the tree, stretching out his stiff and sore limbs.

It’s the figure of someone on the other side of the lights that has Pete stilling, suddenly unaware of everything but the weight of his own breaths— the tapping of his own heart.

He doesn’t see the finer details at first. He doesn’t see this person but, still, he knows who they are— as easily as he knows the cold means nothing now.

Night closes in around them, a snow globe capturing only them in this moment. It stretches on but he feels nothing more than a new warmth burning deep in his heart.

Slowly, he smiles.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Patrick doesn’t often do well in the cold. Ice burns him as easily as the sun, leaves him chattering his teeth violently enough for them to chip. Snow and wind are just as cruel, beating against him with fists harsher than any fight he’s really been in. Typically, he prefers heated blankets and oversized sweaters. He likes hat and gloves and cups of hot chocolate.

Now, though, snow fills his shoes as he stumbles forward thoughtlessly. The wind tries to blow his jacket from his body but he has no sense to pull it closer to his body, letting chills carry across his arms with all the ease of the kiss of summer sun.

The wind circles around him as he walks past the tree, the snowflakes gathering around like a net of dreams and half-awake promises. Despite the cold, there’s something resembling care in the way it all melts on his skin.

And, then? When he stops beneath these gleaming lights?

Pete’s already there, meeting him halfway. 

As Patrick pauses before Pete, every question from before suddenly fades away like so much snow on hot blushing skin. Every wonder about where Pete was and why he was gone is suddenly as worthless as the false warmth of a small car. Because how could any heated room or vehicle be warmth when Patrick is burning beneath Pete’s gaze right now?

Yes, he leaves these questions behind. They’ll have time for answers and explanations later. Now, he simply grabs Pete’s hands. Even through the layers of gloves and frost, he still shudders at the contact.

“Of course,” he says, hypnotized by the way these lights dance across Pete’s face. Red and green and blue and white— Pete is every Christmas wish Patrick didn’t know to say. “I should have known I’d find you here.”

Pete is quiet at first, his eyes unreadable as he gazes back at Patrick. For a moment, it seems as if he has nothing to say— no words to capture the way they both feel.

But then Pete steps forward and Patrick finds himself in an embrace that reaches down into his bones— an embrace that blocks out both storm and sky, an embrace that’s the world itself as Patrick’s head falls into Pete’s neck, breathing deeply and warming himself on his skin. He shakes against Pete and Pete does the same. There’s no saying if it’s the cold that’s causing such a tremble.

If Pete has nothing to say, Patrick is content just like this. He knows every word left unsaid as Pete’s hold grows tighter with each whistling whip of the wind against their backs.

It’s silent. It’s perfect.

And, just as Patrick is melting into Pete, Pete turns and whispers softly in his ear.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says, his breath warming Patrick’s cheek. “You can always expect to find me looking for you.”

Pete’s voice sinks into Patrick’s skin and soul, shrugging its way into the very blood warming his body. Better than any heat; softer than any kiss.

Patrick shuts his eyes and simply holds Pete in the middle of a winter storm.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

There’s some sort of comfort to be found in the way Pete and Patrick curl together on a small hotel bed, ignoring the press of snow against the window in favor of watching each other. Pete’s fingers brush over Patrick’s cheeks, drawing a hot trail across his skin. When Patrick turns red beneath his touch, Pete smiles.

Neither knows how much time has passed, only that time doesn’t seem to matter at all when they’re next to each other. They suppose, if they need, they can figure the hour by how cool the hot chocolate has become, two cups with melting whipped cream waiting on the nightstand beside them. They can estimate the moments left by glancing at the window and wondering at the orange tint at the horizon.

But time is theirs, as certainly as they are each other's. There’s no need to count the breaths they have left to share.

Instead, they count the giggles they’ve exchanged as they shared their stories, tossing their traveling woes back and forth like a present they insist the other opens. They count the ways to make the other smile, the promises of future adventures to share. They count kisses instead of seconds; they count starry-eyed gazes instead of hours and minutes.

They count with fingers tapping along heated skin. They count until numbers don’t matter and all they’re left with is the other’s name on their lips.

They count— and then they don’t. There will be time enough for that later when sun and storm collide.

Patrick shuts his eyes, Pete’s fingers at his mouth, feeling for any leftover words there. Satisfied with what he finds, he lets his hand fall and watches Patrick breathe.

Like counting down, there is no need for words.

No words, but…

“Merry Christmas,” Pete whispers. It doesn’t matter if he’s a few days off— no holiday or present could compare with this.

Patrick smiles, more compelling than the storm and twice as bright as any star.

“Merry Christmas, Pete,” he says, eyes opening and fixing Pete with a warm gleam. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Patrick leans forward, closing his lips over Pete’s.

It’s as soft as snow but as warm as Christmas lights left glowing through the night. It’s enough to make them dizzy; it’s enough to make them want to stay here forever.

And, as the snow continues to fall, they both believe that they can. 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? I hope so!
> 
> Anyway, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! It's not really snowing here as much as it is in this fic but hopefully the rest of you are having a lovely little white Christmas, if that's what you want. 
> 
> I'll admit, writing for Peterick has been a bit difficult for me for a variety of reasons recently (and I am sorry for the fics I've yet to finish) but I did have fun with this one-- let me know what you think. And thank you so much for reading this fic!! Feel free to comment or come hang out on my tumblr to talk about whatever!
> 
> Happy Holidays! :)
> 
> P.S. In case I don't get the chance to say so before the year ends, thank you all so much for a wonderful year in this fandom! I appreciate every single person who's taken a moment to read even a bit of my writing!


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